Life goes on
by No1MournsTheWicked
Summary: When Pansy Parkinson dies, she finds herself stuck on earth. Unable to leave Draco behind, she recruits Harry Potter to help her carry out her unfinished business. But with Harry and Draco starting off on the wrong foot - will all go according to plan?
1. Prologue

I own nothing.

A/N: Hi! So, I've just posted the final chapter of Use Somebody and figured I'd dust this fic off. It's been sitting neglected in My Documents for a few months, so why not do something with it? Hope you enjoy xx

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Life goes on – prologue.

You know, it's funny how one day can change the entire course of your life; when an irreversible moment reaches out for your destiny and gives it a good hard shake, sending all the paths that were once in front of you into twisting avenues and confusing roundabouts. And what's more fascinating is the way your re-routed journey affects everyone around you, sending them careening off of their own path and sometimes flying unceremoniously into a ditch. But sometimes, just sometimes, that ditch was exactly where they were suppose to have landed – had always meant to have landed – and your change in direction was the nudge they had needed. And by being in that ditch, they realise that someone else's path was destined to meet theirs and offer them the hand that pulls them back to their journey.

And maybe, just maybe, they'll look back at that ditch and remember that nothing is ever as bad as it seems, and that after rock bottom...the only way is up.

My name is Pansy Parkinson, and this is the story of my death and how it radically changed the life of my best friend, Draco Malfoy.

Now, you're asking yourself why I would tell such a story – I mean, I'm dead...how is it even possible? Well, it all has to do with a little thing called 'unfinished Business'. I know, I know – cliché, isn't it? Who knew all that crap was actually true? But the fact remains – I'm stuck on earth until my business is finished...whenever that may be.

O.K, let's get the details out of the way first because I know you're dying to hear about my tragic demise. (No pun intended, of course) I'd love to regale you with a story that I died whilst rescuing a baby from a burning building, or succumbing to a fatal wound after a deranged stalker received a message from god to do away with me. Something glamorous. Unfortunately, and if you utter this to anyone I will personally haunt you, I died whilst out jogging.

No, I wasn't incredibly unfit and had a heart attack or something. I was stung by a bee. In my defence it was a very big bee, and it had been intent on stinging me. The anaphylactic shock kicked in, and my murderer and I died side by side in a park on a frosty January morning.

To my indignation, I wasn't found for 3 hours – and when my badly dressed, gym clothed body was discovered by a dog walker, it was only after his filthy mutt had pee'd on my brand new running shoes, ruining them beyond comprehension. I yelled at the dog walker about proper dog management; however it fell on deaf ears as he hyperventilated and then called the emergency services. After laying his jacket over my face – something I was actually quite glad of because I had neglected my make-up routine that morning – the dog walker had rummaged through my pockets and stolen my iPod. Safe to say, he's had a few bouts of paranormal activity since the event, and has since destroyed the iPod.

Now, joking aside, my death had a severe impact on my best friend, Draco, and I have a strong feeling that he is my unfinished business. I just couldn't bear the thought of leaving him behind. You see, Draco and I are like Ant and Dec, Bert and Ernie, Joey and Chandler – we're a pair, a single entity that shouldn't be separated. We always have been, and now my Ernie is without his Bert and it's destroying him.

You see, we grew up together, right from the womb. Our mothers had been college roommates and had been just as inseparable. When each had discovered they were pregnant and the sexes, they had decided that Draco and I would someday marry and have a houseful of babies and they could play doting grandmothers together.

All that had changed when my mother and father had died in a car crash when I was 10. The Malfoys had taken me in and given me a home and had treated me like their own daughter. Any dream of Draco and I marrying had died along with my parents. As we grew up it became apparent that it wasn't just the demise of my parents that had scuppered any plans of marriage – the day I walked in and caught Draco watching pornography that had twice as much male activity and half as much female than usual was pretty explanatory...needless to say he was never going to be leading me down any aisle.

But, if anything, Draco's 'outing' had made us all the more closer, and I had developed a strong, sisterly protection for him – especially after he and his father, Lucius, had fallen out over Draco's 'lifestyle choices' which had led to a long-standing, silent stalemate.

So now Draco is alone – his mother choosing to have very little contact with her only son, and the fact Draco pushes away any kind of friend has led to him falling into isolation since my death a week ago.

I'm dead and to be honest it sucks, and if I don't hurry up and solve the mystery of my unfinished business – if I don't help Draco – I'm going to be stuck in this stupid limbo where I can see and hear everyone but they have no idea that I'm there. I need to find someone who can help my best friend – my brother – and show him that just because I'm gone- life goes on.

And looking around, my eyes connecting with the confused emerald gaze of a rather shabby – albeit handsome – young man, I think I've found just the person. Because he's not looking through me like everyone else does - he's looking at me.

He can see me!

To be continued...

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Thanks for reading xx


	2. I've lost my mind, haven't I?

I own nothing.

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Life goes on

Chapter 1 - I've lost my mind, haven't I?

Harry sank into the cushions of his couch, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table with a long, contented sigh. It had been a long day, the restaurant he worked at had been insanely busy and as Sous-chef he was expected to work just as hard as the executive chef – sometimes harder.

He glanced around his lounge and grimaced at the mess that had collected around him. His entire flat – which was more like a shoe-box with wash facilities – was cluttered with random, mismatched furniture and piles of cookery books - which had been gifts from his book loving friend, Hermione - that still lived inside their cellophane wrappers, having never been read and just stashed on random shelves (and under the couch and inside the fridge)

The walls were painted with a depressing shade of magnolia, 'plain and easy to maintain' his landlord had told him with a stern expression when he had moved in. It had taken Harry 3 hours to cover the coma inducing colour with an array of posters of films and bands, and he hadn't changed them in the 4 years he had lived there. Most of the bands had split up by that point, and the cinema posters were of films he no longer even liked. But he couldn't be bothered to take them down or replace them – often using the excuse when Hermione complained about them that their curling corners and faded quality were a mark of a classic, not laziness.

The ugly red carpet that ran through the entire flat had long since disappeared under a layer of clothes, shoes and DVDs, and his coffee table was somewhere beneath a mountain of take out boxes and empty, used drinks glasses. It really was pretty disgusting, and deep down Harry was ashamed of the state he'd let his place become – it was deep, deep down though, buried beneath a big heap of 'I don't care enough to clean up'. It was home, something Harry hadn't had before, and whenever he was attacked by guilt or Hermione yelled at him for being a pig, he reminded himself of this fact – it was his home, and he'd live however he saw fit.

He sighed as he glanced at the clock on the mantel, cursing the hands as they pointed to 7:00pm. Hermione would be arriving soon for the stupid 'Spiritualist meeting' she had read about and somehow managed to convince Harry to attend with her. She had recently gotten it into her head that Harry's lifestyle choice was down to some kind of rebellion/internal torture due to the death of his parents and his subsequent orphaned childhood, and felt that if he could just communicate with them he'd somehow straighten his life out and take more care of himself. Harry just thought it was a load of rubbish and that his lifestyle choice was exactly that – a choice. Talking to a phoney medium wasn't going to change the fact that he wore his socks 2 days in a row and had messy hair!

But as Hermione's knuckles wrapped at his front door, marking her prompt arrival, Harry knew that arguing with her would be pointless – she'd only nag at him until he gave in anyway, he figured he may as well just cut out the middle man, bite the bullet and get it over with.

He pulled himself off the sofa and made his way to the front door, passing his bedroom in the process and casting a longing gaze to his un-made, inviting bed. He very much wanted to climb under his duvet and bury his head in his soft, feather pillows, and drift off to sleep and stay that way for as long as he could.

Sleep, Christ, that sounded good – Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd really slept. As Hermione knocked at the door again, more impatiently now she was being left to wait, the idea of sleep seemed even more impossible than the phoney 'Madam Trelawny' being able to channel his parents spirit's. With a surge of annoyance that he was being made to take part in this stupid event, he wrenched the door open with more force than was actually needed and scowled into the bright smiling face of his life-long best friend, Hermione.

"Hello, Sunshine!" Hermione beamed, one of her eyebrows quirking skyward as she took in Harry's brooding expression, "You look thrilled to see me." She laughed, knowing that Harry was probably still moody about being made to accompany her.

"I'm tired, and this 'ghost meeting' is going to be a waste of sleep-time!" He moaned in irritation.

Hermione's face morphed into annoyance, "It's not a 'ghost meeting'! It is a perfectly legitimate spiritualist meeting which may sound hokey but I have it on good authority that it is quite fascinating." She said, her eyes lingering on Harry's half closed front door. "Are you going to invite me in or do I have to set up camp in this grotty hallway?" she asked frowning at the beige walls.

Harry, who was still contemplating the fact that the source of Hermione's 'ghost meeting' fascination was probably Loony Luna that worked at the local bookshop and was about as barmy as one person could be, shuddered at the idea of letting Hermione into his flat, and rather than risk the lecture on personal hygiene that was guaranteed to be ranted at him from a million decibels, he scooped his coat from the hook beside the door and edged out, yanking the door closed behind him. "We better leave really, wouldn't want be late for Casper and the gang"

Hermione's eyebrows mashed together suspiciously as Harry began dragging her down the hall to the lift. "OK, firstly – I hope you're not going to be making stupid ghost jokes all night, you little smart-arse. And secondly – your flat is still disgustingly messy, isn't it?" she sniped, stumbling into the lift as Harry tugged her through the doors via her bag strap.

"So –" Harry said nonchalantly, ignoring both of Hermione's arguments, "-Loony Luna put you up to this then? Is she going to be there, because I doubt I can take this remotely serious if she's there wearing vegetable jewellery and staring at me with those massive googly eyes!" he moaned, hoping to distract the intuitive woman beside him. He knew he should've arranged to meet her somewhere else – there was no doubt that the topic of his not so clean flat would crop up again later. She was like a dog with a bone sometimes.

Hermione went into a mini rant about Luna's qualities verses her many oddities, which gave Harry a moment to tune out. As much as he loved her, his best friend was hard work to be around, and he found that if he tried to pay attention to everything she said – he ended up with a migraine that lasted for days. When the lift reached the lobby, the doors slowly opened revealing a plain, dully lit room with nothing more than a fire extinguisher on the wall and a small table littered with take away menus by the main doors that lead to the street. Eager to have Hermione out of the building, Harry looped his arm around her elbow and began towing her towards the exit.

"Harry, could you please stop leading me around like a dog on a leash!" Hermione grumbled, yanking her arm free and glaring at him, "I'm aware you want me away from your hovel of a flat, but removing me from the scene of the grime will not mean I'll forget about it." She added, before turning on her heel and wrenching the door open.

Following after her, his eyes on the swinging door she had exited out of, Harry sighed heavily knowing that it was going to be an epically long night, and he prayed that it would be as painless as humanly possible.

Praying, however, was as much use as Harry's attempts to hide his messy flat from Hermione, because as he reached the door, it swung back forcefully and hit him full-pelt in the face, sending him reeling backwards in surprise, clutching his nose that was bound to be broken. Pain exploded in the centre of his face and rippled outwards until all he could see were stars dancing before his eyes and a loud ringing echoing in his ears.

"Holy shit! My nose, my nose is broken!" He wailed, bowing over into a standing foetal position. "What the fuck!" He moaned into his hands, trying to peer through his fingers to see if Hermione was at least apologetic. But Hermione wasn't there. Instead a tall, blonde man with a box of junk and the most ridiculous expression of surprise on his pallid face gawked at Harry, his grey eyes wide.

"Christ, I'm sorry." He mumbled, clutching the box to his chest. He seemed to be looking around for some sort of assistance, when all he had to do was put the bloody box down and call a doctor. "I didn't know you were standing behind the door, I'm so sorry. Are you O.K?" He added, his voice sounding very small.

Harry, who hadn't been in the best of moods to begin with, was now beyond irritated. He pulled himself upright, holding his sleeve to his bleeding nose, and glared at the man before him. "Do I look alright? You've broken my face!" He growled, though it sounded muffled behind his sleeve and rather than being angry – it just sounded as though he had a really bad cold.

The blonde man frowned slightly, his eyes dropping to the contents of the box in his hands momentarily before gazing back up at Harry. "I did apologize for that – it was an accident. I can take a look at it if you'd like? I'm a nurse – I can see if it's broken or not."

Harry puffed out an annoyed growl, "I think you've done enough damage, thank you." He said ungratefully, glancing down at his blood soaked sleeve. "Besides, I don't need help from a 'male nurse'; I'll go see a doctor if that's alright." He added nastily. He wasn't sure where the remark came from because he was a male cook which was traditionally a woman's job title too – he had no idea when he'd become sexist. Perhaps when he'd been hit in the face with the door!

The blonde man visibly bristled, a sneer sliding on to his face so quickly it was a little frightening. Without so much as a word of retort, he turned away from Harry and made his way to the lift, awkwardly pressing the button as he tried to hold the box at the same time. Harry watched in bemusement, annoyed at himself for being so nasty, but equally annoyed that the man was brushing him off.

"Harry, what the hell – we're going to be late!" Harry heard Hermione call from the door, obviously wondering what was keeping him, but he continued to watch the blonde man as he boarded the lift. Ignoring the blood that was dripping from his nose, Harry observed the blonde man's face as the doors slowly closed, and he was stung by guilt as he watched the man's pallid, drawn face crumple with misery as the metal doors clanged shut hiding him from view.

Sitting in the spiritualist church would have been beyond surreal for anyone, but for Harry it was the single weirdest experience of his life. His nose, thankfully, wasn't broken – in fact once it had stopped bleeding and had been cleaned up it looked pretty normal. So normal in fact, Hermione had refused to let him off and had still demanded that he go to the ghost meeting with her. His jacket, however, was ruined – caked in dry blood and looking ghastly, Harry had ditched it in the nearest bin and was now freezing cold walking around in February wearing only a t-shirt.

Guilt for the blonde man back in his building was staking up inside Harry though, and he was beyond mortified that he had been so rude. Still, there wasn't a lot he could do for him at that moment, and he refocused on the meeting around him.

The church, which was just a hall that had been rented for the event, was filled with people who all wore varying expressions of desperation and hope. Many carried items that had belonged to the people who they wished to contact, and the hope in their eyes was painful to see – Harry suddenly felt more guilt being heaped upon him for treating this event, which a lot of people saw as their last chance to contact their loved ones, as a silly waste of time.

Luna was there which didn't help matters. The hippy-like girl with long flowing, dirty blonde hair floated around eerily, her floor-length dress hiding her feet and making her look like a ghost herself. She handed out leaflets; speaking soft, comforting words in a dream-like, whispery voice and recommending books that might help people with grief and communicating with the dead at home. Harry steered well clear of Loony Luna, choosing to hide behind Hermione whenever she was close-by in case she spotted him. Luna had always had a soft spot for Harry, ever since he had visited the book shop she worked at with Hermione whilst they were at college. Never again though - Luna creeped Harry out more than he cared to admit and he tried to maintain a safe distance from her at all times. Preferably different buildings.

Madam Trelawny was the woman in charge – the woman who spoke to spirits and passed on their messages – and she looked as hokey as one person could be. Her glasses were so thick they were almost double-glazed, and she still couldn't see – she stumbled around bumping into anything that got in her way – and her big eyes looked creepy behind them. She dressed like a gypsy woman, beaded shawls and bangles hanging off her, clanging together as she moved. In all, she looked like a circus fortune teller who was about as psychic and spiritual as a blind atheist.

She called everyone to sit down in a circle of plastic seats whilst she stood in the middle. She stood silently for a few moments, apparently waiting for a spirit to contact her. Now, to Harry, it was obvious that she was a fraud and that the kind, comforting words from 'Derek' and someone's 'Aunt Isabelle' were a load of old rubbish and completely made up. Harry was beyond confident that his mother and father weren't about to call out to him to tell him to wash up more often, so he took the opportunity to zone out and hope that he wouldn't snore too loudly.

He gazed around at the people hanging on to Trelawny's every word with a sad sort of pity, and wondered if deep down they realised how fake all this was, too. But he couldn't ignore the pictures of children clutched in a tearful mother's hands, or the soft-knit peach sweater folded neatly in a widower's lap, and he understood that even if they did know what a fiasco it all was – it gave them hope and comfort. How could he sneer at that?

One girl stood out from the crowd of sobbing, desperate believers though. She looked out of place, and Harry wondered why he hadn't spotted her before, because it was 8pm on a Thursday night in February at a fairly formal meeting – and she was wearing a sports bra and jogging trousers. Her expression was irritated as she watched Trelawny gesticulate wildly as she passed on another message, and she idly twirled a strand of her jet black hair round her finger in a display of boredom.

She was pretty; no doubt about that, and her body was perfect! Though, Harry viewed this objectively and without motive, because she was the complete opposite to being his type, but he recognised her apparent beauty, and glanced around to see if any of the other males in the room had. But no one was even glancing in her direction – in fact both seats either side of her were empty, as though a force field was keeping people away from her. Well, Harry conceded, it was either that or the fact that she was so beautiful that the very thought of sitting beside her dented everyone else's ego.

Harry laughed at that notion and shook his head; some people – even those grieving – were so vain!

The girl glanced over as Harry tried to disguise his laugh as a cough, a small smile on her own face, and shook her head slightly. Apparently she agreed with how ridiculous the whole experience was. Harry smiled at her before glancing at Trelawny and rolling his eyes, and rather than make the girl laugh, he watched as her expression froze on her face, shock and amazement sparkling in her wide eyes. He wasn't sure what he had done to warrant the reaction, and he was even more confused when she glanced at the empty chairs beside her and back at Harry, pointing to herself in the process. Harry frowned, wondering if maybe the girl was taking the mickey out of him before shrugging his shoulders and mouthing 'sorry' to her. Her face beamed so brightly it was in danger of blinding him, and Harry worried that he may have just found an admirer. Maybe she was a crazy lady who picked up depressed, grieving widowers? He quickly looked away into his lap.

"You can see me!" Suddenly she was there, right in front of him, having crossed the circle in the middle of the meeting, and Harry glanced around mortified, anticipating the strange looks and indignant remarks about interrupting the session. No one was looking though. "Can't you? You can see me!" She breathed in disbelief, her eyes searching Harry's confused face.

Harry was pretty certain that the woman was crazy, approaching him at a ghost meeting wearing workout clothes and asking if he can see her – it was beyond mad! And he, once again, glanced around to see if anyone else was watching, but they continued to gaze at Trelawny – Even Hermione, who was taking notes, hadn't noticed the woman, and she was sat right beside him.

"Do you mind, I don't think this is the time or place." He whispered, hoping the woman would go away before anyone noticed her. But rather than go away, she cried out with joy, her hands flying up to her mouth as a huge smile threatened to split her face in two. Harry cringed, knowing that they were bound to be drawing attention to themselves now, he glanced at Hermione who was now looking at him oddly.

"What do you mean it isn't the time or place? It's a meeting Harry, I'm allowed to take notes." She whispered, shaking her head incredulously at his ludicrous suggestion. Harry stared at her stupidly, wondering why she was being so obtuse- he, obviously, was talking to the odd woman in workout clothes stood directly in front of him, and not Hermione.

"I wasn't talking to you-" He said as though it were obvious, "-I was talking to her" he added, pointing at the woman in question who gazed at Harry with an odd smirk. She had folded her arms across her chest – pushing her ample breasts up in the process – and jutted her hip out to the side, her expression amused.

Hermione glanced up from her notes, her eyes following the direction of Harry's still pointing finger, her forehead crinkling in confusion as she took in who he was talking about, "Harry, that's Madam Trelawny, it's her time and place – she can do what she likes. Did she say something to you, because I must have missed it..."

Harry looked at Hermione as though she was retarded, "What?" He asked incredulously, sure he was being messed around. The oddly dressed woman continued to smirk, and she didn't move from her spot in front of him. She was in his personal space, so close it was giving him goosebumps, and he had no idea how Hermione didn't find this weird. "I'm not talking about Madam Fake, I'm talking about Exercise Barbie here!" he exclaimed, receiving looks from people sat nearby now.

Hermione looked at Harry as though he had gone mad, her eyes drifting over the people in the room to find who Harry was talking about, "Exercise Barbie? Harry, did you fall asleep?" she asked disbelievingly, shaking her head with annoyance, "Really, surely you can pretend to be interested for one hour!" she sniped.

"...What?" Harry growled, getting really annoyed now. He glanced at the smirking woman and was overcome with irritation, "Can you go away, you freak." He said nastily, "I'm trying to contact the dead here, and I can't do it with you obstructing my view of Mrs Fake!"

"Harry! Will you be quiet?" Hermione gasped, her wide, shocked eyes flying up and gazing around the circle of people, half of whom were watching them with expressions of exasperation on their faces. "I'm sorry, he doesn't sleep very well – he's an orphan." She explained to the group, only to receive a glare of displeasure from Harry.

"Hermione!" He gasped in mortification, "Shut up. Christ!" he put his face in his hand and wished that he could just get up and leave. Upon opening his eyes he found the still smirking woman still standing before him, still looking superior and bloody annoying, "Will you go away, please!" He hissed.

"Harry, can you please stop this now? It's not funny." Hermione whispered, still glancing around the group, "The meeting is almost over, please just stop being silly,"

"Harry?" The smirking woman asked, "You look like a Harry, or a James – but more of a Harry." She said nonchalantly, as though speaking about the weather over a coffee. Harry gazed at her incredulously, his eyebrows knitting together with suspicion. "That got your attention didn't it?" she added with a genuine smile, "Was that your father's name then?"

"Go away!" He growled, refusing to acknowledge that she was right – that his father's name had been James, and that Harry looked a lot like him, meaning he could very well pass as a 'James'.

"You should stop doing that, people will think you're crazy," She informed knowingly, her expression sincere. Her eyes skittering over the group who were now watching Harry furtively, to Madam Trelawny who was stead-fastly trying to ignore his constant whispered interruptions.

"Do what?" Harry asked, ignoring the strange looks he was receiving – as far as he was concerned it was this stupid woman who was causing the scene, "All I'm doing is trying to get rid of you, which apparently is impossible,"

She smirked again "I like you, you're going to be perfect" She nodded to herself, her hand fluidly sweeping strands of jet black hair out of her caramel coloured eyes, "But you still look crazy," she added with an amused shrug.

Harry was getting tired of this stupid conversation now, and this ridiculous woman with her odd dress sense was just talking in riddles, "It's not me that looks crazy, you're the one who's probably escaped from the nut house!"

She laughed, glancing at Hermione who was gazing at Harry with something akin to concern. She walked around Harry's chair and leant over the back so her mouth was close to his ear. The same frosty chill that accompanied her close proximity earlier blast across him and he passed an involuntary shiver, "Well, you see the thing is, Harry – you're probably right, I do probably belong in a 'nut house'. However, I'm dead – so it doesn't really matter," She said matter of factly, and the chill that passed over Harry turned into ice cold dread. "Sorry, I probably should have mentioned that before you started talking to yourself in a room full of people- You're the only person who can see me."

Harry daren't move his head, daren't turn and look at this psychotic woman and acknowledge anything she was saying because it was completely and utterly mental!

"I know, it's a bit hard to believe, but I don't really have time for you to freak out. I'm Pansy Parkinson, and I need your help."

To be continued...

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Thank you for reading xx


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